Humid Shades on the Stone
by TeaCoffeeBooks
Summary: He had never intended to intrude on her. He most certainly never intended a ritual to be born out of that first intrusion. Yet fate had manifested itself in the form of a habit he was doing his best to ignore.


**A/N: Hello! This was swimming around in my head a little while ago, and when it started to construct itself into sentences, I figured I may as well put pen to paper. This is my first Dramione fic as will as my first _Harry Potter_ fic. I apologize if I make mistakes, as I haven't read the books in ****_years _(although I am currently in the process of reading them for a second time!) I understand my writing can tend to be a bit ambiguous, so I apologize if you are confused. **

**This may or may not be a one-shot.**

**For my friend with the curly blonde hair, who laughs at my humor and puts up with my general ridiculousness with grace.**

***_Warning_* - mature content.**

* * *

He sat in the darkened room, humid air causing his skin to moisten. His legs were crossed and he sat in a chair, hands folded over his knee and his head slightly down. He had been there for nearly twenty minutes, just watching. The water was gently sloshing against the sides of the bath, wetting the ground. Even though she appeared to be still, he understood all was not exactly as it seemed.

He continued to listen to the soft sighs and began to anticipate the drunken smile that would follow a deep breath, the scent of the water pleasing her. The water itself was fluctuating between a nice green, purple, and light pink; each color altered the scent slightly. The hot steam carried the aroma around the room and presented a sweetness in the air.

He continued to sit. After quite a while, the sloshing became a bit more violent and her head leaned back as far as it could. Her mouth opened and she sighed. He knew she had perfected the art of silence, so as to not attract any attention.

And she would have been entirely successful, had the room been as empty as she thought.

Satisfied, he silently stood and with practiced expertise, slipped out, leaving her to the comfort of apparent solitude when she finally opened her heavy eyelids.

* * *

It was during some class or another the following day that he pondered how he had landed into such a situation. He had never intended to intrude on her. He most certainly never intended a ritual to be born out of that first intrusion. Yet fate had manifested itself in the form of a habit he was doing his best to ignore.

Chasing his memory back a few weeks (he didn't know the exact number, as his late-night customs were something he preferred to pretend were nonexistent), he recounted a night like any other. Although exhausted, his mind had granted him no rest and so he had gently escaped his dorms into the stone corridors. The icy air had nipped at his tired flesh which ached for his dark sheets again.

He'd ignored his body's cries for sleep and instead ambled through the corridors as the cold air slowly seeped through his thin clothes.

A shadow twitched.

He immediately drew himself into darkness and kept himself concealed, eyes seeking the movement. Like a magnet, he found the silhouette of a rather fluffy looking head bobbing past a rather large window. He squinted.

The person (at least he assumed it was a person) was doing their best to be quick and unnoticed, but they weren't doing a particularly good job of that and he easily imagined it was because no one should be wandering the halls at this late hour.

Giving one more careful glance, the character slipped behind a door.

He was impressed. The door was rather large, and yet they hadn't made a sound.

Curious, he watched the door for a few moments. His eyebrows creased as the moments grew into minutes. It was now quite clear that whoever had slipped themselves into this room did not plan to leave it for a while.

Gathering his stealth, he padded forwards, feeling his muscles and bones protest at this clear delay in returning to bed.

He must be careful. Mustn't be seen…

"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy,"

He jumped.

Looking up, he saw the stern and thoroughly unimpressed eyes of his professor glaring at him from the front of the room.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Five points from Slytherin."

He nodded, just a slight movement of his head, accepting his mistake as a few of his peers sniggered. He didn't bother to grace them with acknowledgement and instead returned his cheek to his palm with a sigh, and returned to the past in his head.

He was beside the door. He couldn't remember where it lead – he was too tired for his brain to grant him such information.

He lightly fingered the large metal ring which would open it, and then lightly pulled. Just enough for him to slip through, and then he did.

His skin was immediately assaulted by humid warmth which nearly put him to sleep then and there. What he saw was quite possibly the most immense bathroom, a large cavernous room made of stone and the walls almost entirely consisting of arched windows, through which he saw thick clouds and dim stars. Ahead, he saw a bath so huge it could easily be considered a not-very-small swimming pool. The water was shifting colors in a pattern he would soon memorize, and appeared to be producing its own light which dripped across the ceiling in every shade.

Around the expansive room were shelves of every sort of material and design, and on them were bottles of even more combinations of color, shape, and size. Some bubbled or shifted in their glass containers, others struggling to decide whether to remain liquid or solid.

As he adjusted to the new environment, his eyes were drawn to the figure in the bath, back thankfully turned to him.

Or, more appropriately, _hair_ turned to him. And to be even more specific, the hair was up in a messy and enormous… arrangement on the top of the head. Slowly, the hair sunk a bit lower until it seemed as much of the body was submerged comfortably in the water without said hair getting wet.

As the water began to crawl up a neck and the back of the head leaned against the rim of the bath, a very feminine sigh escaped and hung in the thick air.

He leaned against the door he had just entered, and it shut silently.


End file.
